


when it rains (and when it doesn't)

by inexorableformation



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Character Study, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Talon, Post-Talon Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, again not as angsty as the tags sound, im just scared of people reading something that makes them uncomfy or sad.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24107260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexorableformation/pseuds/inexorableformation
Summary: Widowmaker goes to tie up loose ends.
Relationships: Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix & Tekhartha Zenyatta
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	when it rains (and when it doesn't)

**Author's Note:**

> i remember when i told my friends i was writing this and made them guess who was the second character besides widow and none of them figured it out and then turned into that woman shouting beyoncé???
> 
> warning for me headcanoning moira as the one to have brainwashed/"treated" widowmaker so if thats not a concept you want to read thats cool, just letting you know in advance

The room Zenyatta floats into is illuminated by a vast number of candles. They flicker and he stops for but a moment before making his way to the side of the table. The ceiling is high and the room looks larger than it is for it. Outside of the intricately crafted windows lie the snowy mountains, the flags blowing in the wind. There is a hint of cinnamon in the air.

"You've come a long way," Zenyatta says to his guest, "just to speak to me."

The woman sitting at the table drinks from her cup and doesn't break eye contact. Her skin is blue but it's not cold inside. When she tips her head backwards the scars all over her forehead show. They form a pattern.

"I had to," she says. "You know who I am?"

Zenyatta rests his hands on his knees, palms facing up.

"Amélie Lacroix."

She shudders.

"Guess again."

"The Widowmaker."

"Better."

Yellow eyes, like some of the owls in the forests outside the monastery. She wears all black.

"You are foolish to meet me alone," she says.

Zenyatta laughs and it sounds like the chime of the bells above one of the front gates.

"You do not seem to carry a weapon."

"You are foolish," she repeats, "to assume I need one."

"And you, my friend," he replies, "are not being truthful claiming you would kill me."

Widowmaker leans back and he does not flinch under her scrutiny. The cup on the table is half-full.

"I killed your friend."

He nods.

"And I will miss him dearly. Our paths diverged before the end but that does not mean I will not cherish his memory."

She grits her teeth with a closed mouth, it shows in her jaw.

"His killer is sitting in front of you," she says, "but you refuse to serve justice?"

Zenyatta folds his hands.

"I would be a liar if I said I didn't feel anger upon his passing."

"But?"

"Revenge is not justice," he says. "There is nothing to gain from harming you. It would not bring Mondatta back."

Widowmaker blinks for the first time in minutes.

"I would not extend you the same kindness if our roles were reversed."

"So you claim."

"It's the truth."

"Tell me," Zenyatta says and tilts his head to the side, "did you come here to die?"

Widowmaker looks away. As she reaches for her cup her motions are not controlled, not mechanical. Habits are hard to break.

"I thought it fitting," she admits. "A trade. A life for a life. If you had chosen to kill me I would have accepted it. It's only fair."

Zenyatta gazes out the window, into the snow, at the clear blue sky.

"Word does not travel here quite as fast as it does anywhere else," he says, "but I am aware of what Talon did to you."

Yellow eyes on him. Fury. The kind of despair that comes with pain.

"Are you?" she spits. "Are you aware of how they took me apart piece by piece and assembled it wrong like a _marionette?_ "

The word comes out sounding more French than the rest. Zenyatta watches her clench her fists on her legs, hunch over like a feral animal. Unwinding, unwinding, unwound.

"Then why do you ask to be killed?" he asks. "Would you seek vengeance against the blade that cuts you or the one wielding it?"

Widowmaker is quiet. The cup is empty.

"Do you drink to forget?" Zenyatta asks gently.

She attempts a smile.

"Tea? I drink it to remember what warmth feels like."

Snow falls outside. He reaches out. Widowmaker stares, hesitates, but takes his hand in the end. Zenyatta places his other palm on top of her hand, keeps it between his when they start to glow. She watches the orbs spin around him, switching up velocity and trajectory. They shine and they think of stars.

Widowmaker exhales.

"She can't take it from me again."

"She?"

"The doctor."

Upon saying it her whole body spasms. It's over before it ever really starts. She straightens her back. As her hair moves to the side it no longer covers the circular scar tissue on her temples.

"She wanted the visor to stay in place," Widowmaker says with no emotion. "So she made sure it did."

Zenyatta nods and lets go of her hand.

"My student spoke of her."

"Shimada?"

"Yes. He says they never should have trusted her. That her ambition ruined more than her reputation."

"I see her," Widowmaker says and her eyes are focused on something with no physical form. "When I try to sleep. I see her and her needles and nails. I see a chair in a room."

"You don't have to tell me."

"I see her touch me with gloves like I am a slab of meat. She never thought I was human, not even before. Or maybe she did and didn't care. Her eyes don't leave me. J'ai peur. Je n'ai pas peur de mourir."

"What are you afraid of?" Zenyatta asks.

Widowmaker shakes her head, her eyes finding focus.

"I will kill her," she says. "The next time I see her she will die."

He nods.

"If that is the path you've chosen."

"It is. Aren't you supposed to tell me to forgive?"

Zenyatta pours her more tea.

"There are things that can't be forgiven," he says. "And I do not have the right to decide for you if this is one of them."

Widowmaker accepts the tea, holds the cup gingerly. Her fingers tremble, just slightly, just barely visible.

"You really are a fool," she says and drinks. There is a golden shine around her, a familiar hue. Zenyatta smiles with his eyes.

"So I've been told."

**Author's Note:**

> my french is a little rusty but "I'm afraid. I'm not afraid of dying."


End file.
